


The Negotiation

by soongtypeprincess



Series: Married Coppers [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gay Parents, Gay Policemen in the 1970s, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: There would be no bargain, and there would be no alternative. It was either her dinner or nothing at all.





	The Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/gifts).



> It seems that every time I indulge in another ship and/or contribute to another fandom, I always come up with head canons involving their would-be children. This Life on Mars universe was created by me and fellow writer Dana (who has written TONS of amazing SamxGene fics; please go seek them out!). Long story short, and I'm sure there may be a ficlet from one of us about this, the post-series turn of events ends up with Sam, Gene, and Annie becoming a wonderful trifecta in which drunken threesomes turn into voluntary surrogacy. So, biologically, Annie is Ruthie's mother, but she is raised by her fathers (I know this is probably obvious by now, but Dana and I were wondering how to summarize this). Oh, and we've also chosen the name Gwendolyn for Gene's mum because she'll make an appearance every now and then and I don't think she was named in the series (??).
> 
> Moving on! I will be adding drabbles and ficlets to this collection, which I am calling Married Coppers. 
> 
> Also, sorry-not-sorry, the 1980s are going to be kinder to the Gene Genie in this AU. So yeah...
> 
> I DO NOT OWN THE CANON LIFE ON MARS CHARACTERS!

The kitchen window was cracked, and the breeze entered the house in billowy waves. The air was cool, but it did nothing to soothe the occupants sat at the dining table. The grown man, with his chin resting in one hand, and the little girl, with bouncy curls and bright blue eyes, regarded one another. They had been here for the past forty minutes, looking for certain cues in their faces, to see who would tick and who would become the victor.

Sam prided himself on being a good negotiator. He could talk a gunman into releasing hostages, a man out of offing himself, and even make a criminal put down his gun with just words. He could do all of these things that he was well-known for at C-division, but for the life of him, he could not make his own child eat her dinner.

Oh, but he was persistent, as they both knew. It was his DCI who always had the easier bargain, giving in to her wants, replacing peas and carrots with macaroni and cheese, or yogurt with ice cream. But, Sam would not give in, because Gene was off having a kip and Sam was alone to do this his way.

There would be no bargain, and there would be no alternative. It was either her dinner or nothing at all. He could not relent.

Sam took a deep breath. “Ruthie.”

The girl in question, one Ruth Anne Gwendolyn Tyler-Hunt, aged four, looked up at him with tear-stained eyes which were framed by the sandy blonde curls that rested on her forehead. She did not reply, but instead began to quiver her bottom lip.

Sam cleared his throat at this tactic; it was nothing new. On the other hand, it always broke his heart to see her in that state, but it was always temporary because this was how she worked when it came to negotiating with her fathers when she didn’t get her way. Yes, the sight was indeed pitiful, but Sam knew better.

“Ruthie,” he repeated, “eat your dinner, please.”

This demand was met with a loud whine as Ruthie threw back her head and covered her eyes with her tiny hands.

Sam could see that she was tired, as was he, but she did not have a nap earlier, as per her usual schedule.

He watched her patiently as she mumbled her protests of her not wanting her food and not being hungry, which, of course, was a distraction. He knew she had to be somewhat hungry; for her age, routine was everything and one slip from it would cause a calamity. What added to the problem, however, was that Ruthie had entered a certain stage in toddler-hood where all vegetables were simply inedible.

In this case, it was a bowl of cheddar soup which happened to contains bits of _broccoli_.

Sam leaned forward, folding his hands and placing them on the table. When Ruthie uncovered her eyes and gave him her attention again, he said, in a firmer voice, “Take a bite, please.”

Ruthie was taught the value of manners and just how far ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ go, but this only riled another refusal.

“No!” she whined, and crossed her arms as she gave him a frown.

She reminded him so much of Gene sometimes. Their daughter may have inherited Annie’s wavy hair and light freckles, but Ruthie’s blue eyes and her stubborn attitude toward Sam was, without a doubt, Gene Hunt.

He would not respond to her with a similar tone, however. “Darling,” he said, in a softer voice, “it’s broccoli and cheddar soup.”

“It’s yucky!” she declared.

“How do you know it’s yucky when you haven’t even tasted it?” He paused for a response, but her frown grew deeper and her lips began to pout.

Again, pure Gene.

“It’s cheddar, love,” Sam continued. “It’s _cheese_. You love cheese. It’s just being served with a few bites of broccoli.”

Another pause passed between them. Sam thought he had made a breakthrough. That is, until his daughter suddenly rose to her feet, planted them squarely in her chair, and glared straight through him.

“Too much!” she yelled.

"Too much?” he asked, in a firm tone. “You mean I served you too much soup?”

Ruthie huffed. “Yes, Daddy. Too many broccolis!”

Sam took a deep breath and sighed. This needed to end and he would put his foot down.

“That is the right amount of broccolis for a growing girl,” he stated, pointing at her bowl. “And you _will_ eat it because I am not making anything else for you. You either eat your dinner or nothing at all, and that is final. Now, sit down, Ruth Anne.”

Ruthie stood there, now scowling at him. "No no no!"

Sam then decided, against his own word and better judgement, that it was time to bargain.

“Eat your dinner, or _no park_ on Sunday.”

Ruthie’s eyes widened and her bottom lip jutted out even more. Her grew bright with fresh tears and she sobbed.

Sam lowered his head into his hands. He admitted he was at his wits end, and she continued to wail, pitifully gasping for air between heaving cries.

They didn’t notice the tall figure walk from the corridor and stopping at the top of the stairs, his hair disheveled from his nap and his hands in his trouser pockets. He made his presence known, though, when his austere voice broke through her crying.

“Put your bottom in the chair, Ruth Anne.”

Gene may have been wrapped around his daughter’s little finger, and he made no denial of it when Sam took the opportunity to gleefully point it out, but even he knew that he had to utilize his ‘papa voice’ when she needed to be brought down a peg or two. After all, she was a Hunt.

Ruthie’s cries came to a halt as she and Sam looked up at him. She now fixed her gaze on her papa, testing him, but his glare was sharper. She obeyed, but took her time, slowly sitting herself back down into her seat. When she was settled, she placed her arms on the table and rested her weary head on them, sniffing back tears.

Gene tussled back his messy hair as he descended the stairs, and then took a seat at the table. “So, fill me in, Sammy” he said.

Sam sighed and hesitated before replying, “I’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t. I heard quite a bit of this lark, and you’ve got nothing.” He placed his folded hands on the table. “Once again, your DCI has to intervene.”

“I really wish you wouldn't take that sort of attitude in situations involving our daughter,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Also, it’s not a pissing contest!”

Gene ignored him and asked, “What’s going on?”

He sighed once more and ran a hand over his hair. He scratched the back of his neck, saying, “Ruthie didn’t have a nap, as you know, and now she refuses to eat.” He regaled this in a calm voice. “I told her that if she didn’t eat, then we would _not_ go to the park. She proceeded to scream and cry—“

“Yeah, I heard all that,” Gene interrupted. “That’s why I’m awake.” He glanced down at the little girl who hadn’t budged from her pitiful position. He looked back at Sam. “Have you tried reasoning with her?”

Sam huffed. “I’ve been reasoning for the past hour.”

Gene shrugged. “All I’ve heard you do so far is _telling_ her what to do instead of talking to her.”

"I've _been_ talking to her."

Gene turned to his daughter. “Ruthie,” he said in near whisper. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you eat your dinner?”

Sam had seen a transformation in Gene after Ruthie was born. He was gentler, more accommodating, and at times, quieter. If they had an altercation, it was best to keep it at the station and not in their home with a baby around.

Gene took on the role of a father so naturally, and it filled Sam’s heart to see him interact with their daughter. From late night feedings to dirty nappies to stories at bedtime, Gene was involved with every bit of fatherhood. Sam's own father had skipped out on him and his mum while Gene’s father was an abusive, alcoholic, something that Gene vowed he would never be if he had a child. Sam was happy that Gene lived up to his promise, and had confidence that he would always keep it.

This little girl was Gene’s entire world.

Ruthie didn’t move her head, and only mumbled her answer. Gene lightly stroked her hair. “Baby, sit up,” he said to her. “Sit tall, like a big girl. There you go.”

She put her little fists under jaw, her face flushed with pink. “Daddy…” she said, “put broccoli in the soup.”

Gene gasped and looked back at Sam. “Daddy, how dare you?” he said, playfully, and Sam only sighed again. “Love, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Gene told Ruthie, “and truth be told, I’m not a fan of vegetables either, however, you will be faced with lots of veg in your lifetime. So, you _are_ going to eat your soup.”

She whimpered again and hanged her head, but Gene gently cupped her chin and raised her eyes to him. “You either eat one bite of dinner or no park on Sunday.”

“Papa…” she whined once more, but Gene didn’t budge. “But…he put too much. I can't eat it!”

“Too much what?”

“Too many broccolis,” she said, diplomatically.

Gene grinned. “How many is too many? Have you counted?”

Sam looked at him and grinned. He had to admit that this was a clever maneuver and he mentally kicked himself for having not thought of it. But, then again, that’s what made them a great team, as coppers and as parents.

Ruthie shrugged to which Gene moved his chair to sit beside her. “Well, then,” he said, “let’s have a look. How many broccolis?” He paused and let her look, both of them wearing their signature pouts. “Go on then, love. How many are there?”

She rubbed a tear from her cheek and counted aloud, pointing at each piece of broccoli with her finger. “One, two…uh, three, four…five.”

“Oooh,” Gene sighed heavily. “Five broccolis. That is quite a bit.”

“I know, Papa,” Ruthie sighed, too.

“But they’re not big broccolis.”

Ruthie scrutinized the contents of her bowl again. “Hmmm.” Both of her fathers waited patiently as she studied her soup. “No…not big,” she finally agreed.

“Tell you what,” Gene said, “I’ll eat one. Then you’ll have how many?”

“Four,” she answered right away.

“Very good! But, if I eat one, then you have to eat one. Yeah?”

She leaned back in her chair and wrinkled her nose at him, which made both Gene and Sam laugh.

Gene rose from his chair, picked up the bowl, and walked to the kitchen. “Right, I’m sure the soup’s gone cold. Pop it in the micro for ya, and you got thirty seconds to make up your mind.” With that, the soup was in the microwave and the timer set.

Sam watched as Ruthie tried to reason with her papa. “It’s yucky!”

“I know it’s yucky,” Gene agreed, “but anything good for you is, and we all have to eat things that are good for us. Don’t you agree, Daddy?”

“Oh, yes, Papa,” he answered, although he had never seen Gene eat anything remotely healthy since they first met.

After the microwave stopped, Gene brought the bowl back to the table and sat beside Ruthie. “Okay, let’s cool it off,” he said and Sam smiled as Gene and Ruthie both blew on the reheated soup. “Right, that should do it. Here we go.” He picked up Ruthie’s spoon, which was dwarfed in his large hand and scooped up the biggest piece of broccoli. He looked at the limp piece of vegetation and wrinkled his brow. He looked at Ruthie, who was watching him intensely. “First one down!” Gene said and then shoved the broccoli into his mouth.

He chewed slowly and tried not to convulse his face for the sake of his daughter. Broccoli was not his favorite either.

He swallowed it down and handed the spoon to Ruthie. “Your go,” he told her.

Ruthie took her spoon and then looked at him. Her papa nodded for her to continue, but she asked, “Can I have a cone, too?”

In the park on Sundays, there was a lady with an ice cream cart that carried vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry cones. Strawberry was her favorite and it was always her Sunday treat.

Sam raised his eyebrows. He knew that she figured she already had the prospect of the park in the bag, but now that Gene was involved, perhaps a cone could be included in the bargain.

Gene saw through this, too. “Sure, love,” he said brightly, “But you have to eat _two_ broccolis.”

Ruthie pursed her lips and huffed through her nose. She spooned up her first broccoli and the tears were suddenly back. “Daddy,” she looked at Sam with pitiful eyes once more.

Sam smiled at her. “You can do it, baby, come on.”

She whimpered again and put the tip of her tongue to the offending piece of green on her spoon. She instantly emitted a loud gagging noise, to which Gene rolled his eyes in Sam’s direction.

“I see where she learned her dramatics,” he quipped.

Ruthie instantly shoved the spoon into her mouth and slowly chewed the broccoli, but not without more gagging sounds. She slammed the spoon onto the table and doubled over, clutching her tummy as she whined.

“Man alive,” Gene said as he shook his head and gently took her arm. “Sit up properly, please.”

She obeyed and when she finally swallowed the broccoli, she let the tears flow.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sam said, “it’s not that bad.”

“It is!” she wept. “It’s gross!”

“Well, that’s because Daddy didn’t season it, did he?” Gene explained. Sam cut a glare to him, but Gene ignored it.

Ruthie wiped her eyes. “Can we go to the park?”

“Yes, love,” said Sam, “you ate one broccoli, so we can go to the park on Sunday.”

“And a cone?”

“No, because you didn’t _two_ broccolis,” Gene reminded her.

Ruthie gasped. “I did! There were two I ate!”

Gene shook his head again. “I sat here and watched you, and there was one broccoli in your mouth. I may be old, but I can still see.”

She continued to cry as she picked up her spoon again. “I don’t wanna…”

“Then no cone.”

“Okay!” she cried. She spooned up another piece of broccoli, this one more offensive than the last. This piece made her gag louder and she covered her face and cried as she chewed as quickly as she could. Every moment was pure agony and when she swallowed that piece down, she sobbed, exhausted at the amount of energy she had just applied to the task of eating two pieces of broccoli in a row.

Gene stood and lifted her from her chair. “There’s my brave girl!” he said proudly. She put her face in the crook of his neck and cried harder, her body going limp against him. He rubbed her back and smiled. “Wasn’t so hard, eh? Oh, you poor, poor girl!” He giggled as he kissed her cheek.

Sam picked up her bowl and spoon and went into the kitchen. He placed the dishes in the sink to wash up in the evening. He placed the lid on the saucepan that was full of leftover soup and put it in the refrigerator.

His eyes started to droop at his own exhaustion and he noticed that Gene and Ruthie had moved closer to him.

Gene kissed Ruthie’s temple and whispered to her, “Ya know what, love?”

“What?” she sniffed.

“I think Daddy needs a kiss and a hug,” Gene said to her, looking at Sam. “He did make you a nice dinner…and you were so good at eating some of it for him. Why don't you thank him, yeah?”

Ruthie immediately nodded and reached out for Sam.

He smiled and took her from Gene. She hugged Sam’s neck and she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

Sam felt his eyes burn with tears of his own as he glanced at Gene, who rolled his eyes. “Christ, she gets the girly crying from you, as well,” he said, planting a kiss on Sam’s forehead.


End file.
